Thurvin strode down the blue-carpeted aisle. Enchanted candelabras hanging above him lit the way, illuminating the faces of the wizards and wizardesses as they turned toward him. Each row he passed fell quiet, like tiles stacked in a row and tipping one by one. When Forca stood, the remainder of the room fell silent, all eyes turning toward Thurvin.
Finally, he would have their attention.
“What is this, Thurvin?” Forca demanded. The man was tall and thin with well-groomed brown hair and beard. “Where is Malvorian?”
“Lord Malvorian is busy,” Thurvin replied, stressing the man’s title. “I have called this meeting on his behalf.”
Forca glowered at him. “We do not answer to you, Thurvin. You are nothing but an advisor to Malvorian. You hold no sway over the guild.”
“You are wrong on both counts.”
Thurvin grinned as he drew in magic, embracing the flow until it swelled to the greatest extent he had ever held. With the enchanted bracelet, his magic became much stronger than his limited natural talent. The glow from his body lit the room brightly, making it impossible for any gifted to ignore.
“What is this?” Forca demanded, wide-eyed.
“This is power, Palkan.” Thurvin strode forward and climbed the dais, followed by the two guards, who shifted to stand behind him as he faced the room. Still holding his power, he glared at the taller man until Forca backed away. After a deep breath, Thurvin spoke in a loud voice. “Malvorian has declared a state of war.”
A rumble of surprise came from the wizards in the room. Thurvin held his hands out – one encircled by an energy construct, the other with a construct of protection. He slapped the two magic patterns together. A thunderclap shook the room, everyone jumping with a start as they fell silent.
“You will listen. Any interruptions will be dealt with quite harshly. Don’t test my patience.” He relaxed, allowing the magic to dissipate, and with it, the glow faded. “As of today, Farrowen is at war with Ghealdor. Under the conditions of war, all registered wizards are required to serve when called on.” He grinned. “This is your call.
“When you leave this room, prepare quickly, for we leave the day after tomorrow. Anyone attempting to avoid this service shall be considered a traitor and must answer to Malvorian directly.” He paused again for affect, then added, “I’m sure you recall what happened to Gurgan.”
Everyone in the room had seen the two halves of Gurgan’s body on display outside Malvorian’s palace as a warning to any who might consider a coup.
Facial expressions ranging from anger to fear stared toward the dais. How the wizards felt didn’t matter. All Thurvin required was obedience.
Portia Forca, Palkan’s wife, stood from the front row. She was a comely blonde woman in her early forties, curvy but a bit plump for Thurvin’s taste. “Pardon, but you cannot expect the women to go to war. Wizardesses know nothing of battle magic.”
“True,” Thurvin nodded. “However, you are far more skilled than men at healing, which will serve us well in this venture.”
The woman’s blue eyes were visibly disturbed as she sat. The room fell silent, and Thurvin had to restrain himself from laughing. To have the entire guild – people who had once ridiculed him – disarmed and afraid was a triumph.
Another personal victory. Many more will follow, for a new day is here.
Without having to raise his voice, he issued orders. “You will not depart from Marquithe alone. A full company of soldiers will escort you, and I will be at their lead. The garrison at Lionne will soon march, and we will join them on the way to Starmuth. The sooner we take the city, the sooner we can advance to Fastella.”
Forca stepped forward, the taller man dipping his head to Thurvin. The simple motion from the arrogant leader of the Wizards Guild made Thurvin smile.
“Excuse the interruption,” Forca said, “but what of Lord Taladain? Surely you cannot expect us to face him in his own city.”
“Ah. Taladain.” Thurvin nodded before turning toward the audience. “You no longer need worry about the Lord of Ghealdor, for the man is dead.”
The entire room gasped as one. The death of a wizard lord was a rare occurrence, numerous decades often passing between such events.
“Dead?” Forca sounded astonished. “How?”
A grin stretched across Thurvin’s face. “I had him killed.”
Forca’s eyes reflected doubt. “You?”
Thurvin sneered, “I know you have thought little of me in the past, Palkan. However, Lord Malvorian has proven himself much wiser. Rather than spurn my skills, he embraced them. As a result, he will soon become the most powerful wizard in the world. When we capture Ghealdor, we capture not just land, but the faith of the people. You see, Taladain will have no successor. Instead, we will turn the Ghealdan Towers of Devotion toward Farrow. When we do, Malvorian’s power will double.”
Prince Eldalain Killarius stood at the bow of God’s Cursor, his bodyguard, Klondon, beside him. The two gazed at the island city of Fastella as the ship sailed into port. It was early, the sun not far above the eastern horizon. Fishing boats were scattered along the coast, and another ship, a heavy, three-sailed freighter, slipped past on its way out to sea. Workers toiled on the docks, loading cargo onto three ships secured to the main pier. Beyond, the tall, pale walls of Fastella loomed, wrapping about the city as if to keep it from spilling out into the river on either side. The scene was decidedly mundane, giving the false impression that nothing important had occurred. A glance toward the heart of the city proved otherwise.
The Tower of Devotion had gone dark, the eternal purple flame doused and dormant. Eldalain expected the fire would be lacking after witnessing the same infliction on the obelisk in Dorban. Only one thing could cause either flame to die. His father, Lord Taladain, must be dead.
When he rode into Dorban three days prior, Eldalain had gone directly to the castle, only to discover his mission had been a ruse. His cousin, High Wizard Heldain, was neither trapped in his castle nor under assault by the Wizards Guild. In fact, the man appeared to have the backing of the guild. An hour later, as darkness took the city, the fire in the obelisk went dark. Eldalain immediately made for the harbor and commandeered a ship.
With the fate of Fastella and all of Ghealdor at risk, haste was critical. Traveling by ship was faster than riding his horse back, so he ordered the rest of his guards to meet him in Fastella, then set sail with Klondon. Those soldiers would arrive with their horses in another day or two. By then, Eldalain would have the city under his control.
What happened, Father? he wondered again, the question gnawing at him. He wished the old man had died prior to the Darkening. The long wait to ascend the throne would be difficult, the risk of treachery likely. It is what I would do. Strike while the wound is fresh, the guard not yet recovered. If my sister attempts to rise… The thought elicited a growl.
With the sails down, the ship drifted toward the pier, a sailor at the prow ready with a thick coil of rope. The man tossed a loop toward a dockworker who secured the loop to a post, drawing the line taught.
As the ship settled, Eldalain drew in his magic and formed a construct of physical manipulation. He anchored one end to the ship’s deck and wrapped a coil of magic about his waist, using it to lift him over the rail, across the twenty-foot gap, then set himself on the pier while onlookers watched in awe. Eldalain grinned. He knew they could not see the magic, just a striking wizard in purple robes floating from the ship to the pier.
The moment his feet touched down, he spun and shifted his magic to anchor it to the steady pier. With a twist of his wrist, a coil of magic looped around Klondon’s midriff and lifted the man off the ship. The bodyguard was much heavier than Eldalain, even if he weren’t wearing armor and carrying a battle axe. The prince strained with the weight but kept his expression stoic, refusing to show weakness. Klondon floated over the gap and touched down beside him. The pair immediately headed down the pier, toward the waiting city.
> A grimace of determination framed Eldalain’s face, his hair and robe ruffling in the breeze. His stride was purposeful, climbing the incline to the open gate. Guards at the gate recognized him, hastily standing at attention and thumping their fists to their chests as he strode past, none daring challenge him.
Good, he thought. Fastella remains mine to control. If another wizard held the city, the guards would have reacted differently.
They passed through Dockside, the people on the street hurrying out of the way. Few would dare challenge any wizard wearing a scowl, and none would dare cross Eldalain Killarius. He had worked hard to establish his image. Fear was power, forcing others to listen and respect. Eldalain rarely had to threaten others. His reputation, formed by decades of ruthless efficiency, was threat enough. He mentally recounted those he had killed in the name of his father – seventeen wizards, eight wizardesses, and dozens of ungifted. None had presented a challenge. After all, few could hope to match his power, even without his ring. With it, they didn’t stand a chance.
The buildings fell away, the street widening as they passed through Wizard Hills, filled with mansions and walled estates large enough to house numerous families. Eldalain had considered taking a house in the area, thinking it would keep the Wizards Guild under his thumb. However, nothing compared to life at the palace, and to take a home outside the palace walls would be like conceding his claim to the throne. When the mansions fell behind and he approached the palace, he slowed a bit, giving himself more time to think.
With his father dead and the throne vacant, Ghealdor was like a ship without a captain, the wheel turning at the whims of the wind. He would need to seize control promptly and decisively. His sister would be a threat, as would Van Parsec, the leader of the Fastella Wizards Guild.
If Narine remains at the palace, I will have to attack fast and crush her before she can protect herself. If she has fled… That would be a problem for another day.
Eldalain gave a firm nod to the guards at the palace gate and entered unchallenged – another good sign. He crossed the plaza, climbed the stairs, and entered the building. Before he even reached the interior stairwell, a gray-haired man with a thin mustache, both waxed, appeared, dressed impeccably.
The head of the palace staff gave Eldalain a shallow bow. “My prince. Thank Gheald you have arrived.”
“Ruthers,” Eldalain said to the man. “What happened?”
“Perhaps we should retire to your chambers to discuss the details.”
“Where’s Burrock? I need to speak with him, as well.”
Ruther’s eyes flicked toward Klondon, then back to Eldalain. “Master Burrock is dead. Verd currently leads the guard…until you name Burrock’s successor.”
Eldalain took a deep breath. “Very well. To my chambers.”
With Ruthers in the lead, the trio climbed to the fourth level and headed to Eldalain’s chambers. Ruthers produced a key, opening the door and holding it as Eldalain and Klondon entered. Ruthers followed, closing the door and turning about as Eldalain sat behind his desk. Klondon stood beside the door, grim and vigilant as always. Although the man couldn’t speak, he was the perfect bodyguard and suited Eldalain well.
Ruthers cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I regret to inform you of your father’s death.”
“The purple flames are doused, Ruthers. Taladain’s death is not news. I wish to know how it occurred.”
The man wrung his hands for a moment before dropping them to his sides. “I assisted Master Verd in the inquiry. With you away, the princess missing, and Burrock and your father dead, things have been quite chaotic.”
“My sister is missing?”
“Yes.”
Eldalain sat back and rubbed his chin. Narine is a problem for another day. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”
“Yes, sir,” Ruthers said. “The inquiry focused on a number of interviews with the only surviving witness to your father’s murder.”
Eldalain’s eyes widened. “Murder?” Taladain could heal himself and had the power to defeat any ordinary wizard. How could he be murdered?
“The day after you departed, I interviewed a performance troupe who was to entertain your father. The princess was invited to join him. This new troupe was to perform just prior to sunset two days past. They arrived on time and all seemed well. I brought them out to the theater and retired to prepare dinner. Less than an hour later, a distraught servant named Hoann burst into the kitchen, panting and crying. He informed us of Taladain’s murder.
“Of course, I rushed out to the theater immediately. By then, a number of guards had arrived. The scene was gruesome. Your father had been stabbed in the heart, blood everywhere. The blood…” He frowned. “It turned the tiles to crimson-colored crystal. Then we found Burrock and two of his men dead in the garden.
“A search ensued, the palace locked down, all exits barred. However, the perpetrators were nowhere to be found. Neither was Princess Narine. Eventually, we found a tunnel through the palace wall, smoothly carved, as if done by an artist.”
“Through the palace wall?” Eldalain frowned. It had to be magic, but he knew of no construct able to create such a tunnel. Bust the wall to pieces, yes. A tunnel, no.
“We later interviewed Hoann, but the man was on edge, confused, and largely incoherent. Eventually, we determined another servant, a man newly hired, had been part of the attack and likely in league with the performers. Worse, we believe the scheme was hatched by Princess Narine.”
Eldalain sat upright in surprise. “My sister killed my father?”
“It appears so, Your Highness.”
Incredible, Eldalain thought. I didn’t think she had it in her. I must be wary. She is more dangerous than I thought.
“Verd took charge of the Indigo Hounds, searching everyone attempting to exit the city. With days passing and no sign of your sister or these assassins, I fear we have lost them.”
Eldalain waved it off. “No matter. Our focus must shift toward protecting Fastella.”
“Protecting the city, Your Highness?”
“Yes. Without a wizard lord to hold the throne and to wield the power of Gheald, Fastella is at risk. Usurpers might seek to attack the city while we are at a disadvantage.”
“I don’t know about such things, sir.”
“Of course not. You just worry about the palace staff. I’ll worry about the city.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please, fetch me Verd Lucan.” Eldalain stood. “I must speak with him. It is time to declare martial law.”
“Immediately, my prince.” Ruthers exited the room, leaving Eldalain with his thoughts.
He turned and walked to a window overlooking the theater. Four stories below, the marble tile was cracked and scorched, a section of the viewing platform turned to crimson crystal, sparkling in the sunlight. All were remnants of what must have been a mighty display of magic. His father, a man whose life had spanned over two hundred years, had died there. And with him, the power of Gheald was lost until the next Darkening. Eldalain’s gaze rose to the sun, partially blocked by the moon. Eighteen weeks would pass before another full Darkening occurred over Fastella. Those weeks would be a challenge, him attempting to hold the city while discovering what scheme hid behind his father’s assassination. Still, Narine had done Eldalain a favor by removing Taladain. But the timing was off.
Where are you, Narine? Why kill father, then flee the city? What game are you playing?
He released a sigh. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.”
A grunt of agreement came from Klondon.
1
Squabble
Jerrell “Jace” Landish grimaced as he trailed his travel companions by a dozen strides, just close enough to remain within earshot. He knew his pouting was childish, but he refused to give in.
As always, Salvon drove his little cart, towed lazily by his sad, weathered horse, Jabbers. The old storyteller hummed to himself while holding the reins,
a habit he had likely developed over years of traveling alone. His wispy, gray hair fluttered in the breeze, as did his distinctive patchwork cloak.
Sitting beside the man was Rawk, who had remained silent for most of the journey, which was nothing new. The dwarf was odd. Skilled in reading others, Jace found him a puzzle of ill-fitting pieces. Because Rawk rarely said anything and his eyes were always masked by those dark, tinted spectacles, Jace hadn’t been able to get a good read on him or determine his motives. Rawk seemed so naïve sometimes, it left Jace wondering if he had been raised in seclusion. Still, with thick muscles and an uncanny ability to shape stone with his bare hands, he had proven himself useful.
Next, Jace’s gaze landed on Narine, as it had frequently since the moment they met. The princess and her bodyguard, Adyn, rode in the back of the cart, while Rhoa walked beside it. Narine’s golden hair shone in the afternoon sun, her bright, blue eyes sparkling when she laughed at something Adyn said.
At nearly six feet, Adyn stood a full head taller than Rhoa, the dark-haired, copper-skinned acrobat. Jace had discovered Rhoa, with her enchanted fulgur blades, and Adyn, with her curved sword and dagger, were both more dangerous than they appeared. Taladain and his captain of the guard, Burrock, had both discovered the truth of it, the last thing either would ever do.
The three women went on and on, chatting and laughing, as if just to irritate Jace. He was irritated by it, and that bothered him even further. What good is pouting if nobody notices? he thought. More than anyone, a princess should understand proper behavior toward someone pouting.
He had done his best to impress Narine, to no avail. True, she and Adyn enjoyed the stories of his escapades, bringing them shock and laughter in equal measure. After all, the legend of Jerrell Landish existed for good reason. However, Jace had encountered obstacles every time he had tried to get the princess alone. It was often Adyn who negated his maneuvers. The tall bodyguard seemed to forever loom over Narine, as if she were a newborn eaglet and Adyn the watchful mother bird, ready to strike with talons and beak should anyone threatening her offspring.
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